


The ship

by ARMEN15



Series: Trilogy [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arya's journey, Deadly Assassins, F/M, Faceless Arya Stark, First Time, The Faceless Men, West of Westeros, postse08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:13:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21767410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ARMEN15/pseuds/ARMEN15
Summary: Sequel of Faceless don't and Apprentices can't.Post se08, Arya's voyage is not so lonely as she thinks.
Relationships: Jaqen H'ghar/Arya Stark
Series: Trilogy [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1537066
Comments: 4
Kudos: 439





	1. Chapter 1

The ship is equipped for a long travel, whose length is unknown and destination vague, only moving toward west, always west. The winds are strong and very cold, islands appear in the distance, mostly covered with ice.  
The crew is reduced to minimal, few people dare to partake such a dangerous project.  
War survivors, deserters, desperados, the girl promises each a bag of gold and a patch of land in the North, should they return, alive.  
Arya Stark’s not afraid of those man, she is strong, she killed the Night King so she is respected and feared, her weapons are tools of death.  
She has been fast in renting the ship and finding a suitable captain, she has stayed a few days in the tavern of the harbour, observing various people, listening to conversations; her ability to wear different faces is so useful.  
A name is frequently spoken, Rhodre Edham, retuned from a long travel by sea, she observes him in half shadow, she follows him, an empty house, a whore for a night, a man devoted to the sea.  
Arya is fast in employing him and Edham prepares soon the long list of items to buy. She visits the docks and is attracted by the goods coming from far away lands; she’ll find her own new land, she’s sure. What she’ll do after that, she can’t think about for now.  
Coins change hands and Arya finds a seamstress and orders a banner wolf for the ship: her sails will show Nymeria, who is in Winterfell, with Sansa. The wolf’s got her first litter, three pups that need her mother wolf and Arya has caressed the furry heads and asked Sansa to take care of the newborns.  
The smallest, a female, has already the name Little Lady and she tries to hide under Sansa’s dress when the lady of Winterfell sits in the garden.  
\---

Edham follows her orders, Arya stands on the deck, near the bow, wearing a thick coat with fur.  
When the darkness falls, she returns inside her cabin, studying maps and reading books; she don’t share meals with anyone, she needs time to think.  
Edham looks at her, a man tall and slim who claims years of experience and attempts to make polite conversation; Arya don’t want to talk, there’s too much inside her mind, she’s free for the first time in her life, since her father’s head was cut from his body and the tragedy of her family started.  
Such a new sensation, freedom, that means loneliness too, a trait she tries to bear with pride.  
Jon, Sansa, Bran, Gendry, all those once important for her. And those dead, Mother, Father, Robb. And the man left behind, the one who betrayed her. Would he still want revenge against her killing of his faceless sister? Or would he want something else from her, something they could both enjoy, after the few charged moments they shared? Could her desire to learn everything from him and become like him have had a different outcome if she stayed? No, she had to leave, bearing the weight of separation.  
A knock at the door, the boy from the galley enters with her tray of food, keeping his head low in respect, he’s young and thin, not coping well with sea life, according to his pallor; she spots a bruise on his check, similar to a slap. She remembers herself at his age, an apprentice in the house. The boy stirs in Arya a desire to do small talk, he don’t deserve to experience the harshness of her own training.  
“Your first time on board? You’re so young.”  
He simply nods; dark hair, bongs up to the eyebrows, some of his traits are delicate, girlish, but he’s a boy, his chest and hips shows no female traits, not like herself when to survive she had to pretend, and was caught by no one.  
“This wine is rancid.” His silence angers Arya. “Bring me another.” Her tone is harsher she wants and the boy retreats to follow her order.  
She questions herself if he’s dumb, he avoids to speak, simply nods or make gestures, every evening. He sure hides in the galley, Arya thinks, because he’s never around in daylight. He’s handsome, he risks his ass between the rest of the crew; she’s safe because her reputation will make a man cut his own cock at the mere idea to touch her body, he can be used – abused - and there is a little sadness in Arya.  
Maybe he could help her, to find that release still unknown. Maidenhead more a burden than a value to cherish, a green boy would be clumsy, but eager to follow her lead, her orders. Her body is in charge now, its requests urgent, vivid, her drams unsatisfied. She’s quite an old spinster, at her age Sansa had already been married twice and Arya escaped that destiny only leaving Winterfell and hiding in the House.  
Love may be a forbidden fruit, but her body must be well trained, toned, so this insane desire of flesh has to be satisfied.  
\---

The ship leaves the deck and a man is unwell for three days, his body refuses food, his face is pale, an event unpredictable.  
He listens to the crew’s tales, others are unwell too, first time sailors, recruited only with the promise of gold.  
Is it the fear or the rough sea that distress the others? Or it is his true self, far from the House, on an unusual mission?  
On a ship with rough sea, he remembers only short boat trip on Bravoos sea, not this continuous rolling and the unsteady deck and so his head spins, his stomach clenches and he vomits fluids.  
He hides at night to sleep behind a thick curtain with his usual face and he feels immediately better.  
The ship is a small castle, a little town; people’s behaviour is the same in a different, lesser scale and once again he sees, he listens, he remembers.  
He wants to be sure the sailors are worth of her trust, she’s the one he must protect, in every possible way.  
\---

He’s always a step behind her.  
Following carefully.  
Protecting with infinite patience.  
Observing her transformation into the woman he has helped to mould.  
Leaving the House, drawn to her, allowed to remain a brother only thanks to his past services and his skills; his master’s last admonishments ring often in his ears.  
“She’s your apprentice, not your child.”  
At first he is shocked, what is the older man implying?  
He’s sure he has no children, he never actually completed a seduction to give the gift, he was close to the point, often, never crossing the line and if his body was touched on purpose and left excited, his seed never entered a cunt.  
And Arya is a Stark, orphan and not in need of a surrogate father, especially one like him, so pathetic in those matters.  
“No one cannot be a father.” His brain heavy with thoughts, the master offers an explanation.  
“Fatherhood is more of the mind than of the body, brother. You’ll understand.”  
The words are stored in his memory, adding fuel to his dangerous thoughts; he’s leaving the place he spent all his life into, since he remembers.  
Still the master has been explicit.  
“Going away for a delicate and long mission will distance your from being completely a faceless, this is a different kind of gift you have to give, it could be your life, to protect Arya Stark. Are you aware?”  
“All man must serve.”  
He has bowed his head, his purpose defined by the girl he remembers so well. Is it a sin to keep something for himself? Are the memories of her ethereal or real? Is there a contrast between with his wow s to the many faced God or in realization of his human frailty?  
She’s gone for days, weeks, he don’t count anymore and his heart is heavy, his Master has dropped slowly bits of information, then orders him to leave, without a name for the gift.  
“Arya Stark in on her way to the Night King, go follow her.”  
The Freys, Nymeria, her return to Winterfell, he discovers what she has experienced, he becomes a shadow behind her.  
Only once he has allowed his desires to win over his discreet surveillance, when she is kissing that young man, the blacksmith: for a brief moment the blood that rushed in his veins is a hot poison, he feels his chest explode, his brain a nest of snakes.  
A quick change and he is a fat soldier who enters the forge in a hurry and tells the blacksmith one of the chains of the bridge is close to the breaking point.  
A lie, enough to make the young man run out and head for the gates and to force Arya to leave alone.  
He chastises himself for the trick played on Arya, he’s slowly loosening up the self imposed reins, his facelessness crumbles pieces by pieces.  
Easily he has joined the ship crew, staying hidden, mostly, observing her.  
\---

Eyes on her.  
The helmsman, the man behind her, the most obvious possibility. Broad shoulders, long beard, a massive man, resembling a bull, an older Gendry. Her former friend asked her to stay as his lady, unable to understand the force driving Arya toward the unknown.  
Once conquered west, will she be satisfied or she’ll look for another quest? Can she slow her restlessness and take roots somewhere? Alone?  
A young woman has desires of the flesh, she’s tired of waiting, she knows someone is watching every move she makes.  
She feels it, like when she was blind, if she closes her eyes the sensation simply increases, a voice tells her to breath and walk, unafraid. She’s a woman, a cunt for all the males of the ship.  
Once they are at large, the sailors are bind to each other to make the voyage safe, she’s bind to them, too.  
Uneasiness, because to get a fuck she don’t want to have to kill someone, to show her power, she is tired of killing, tired of seeing gore and blood, this challenge is a different kind, just for once.  
Desire of revenge sated, her family safe, she has the right to do things for herself only. A good Selfishness she’s not used to, always the others more important than her life, her hopes and her own desires.


	2. Chapter 2

A man notices Arya is studying the crew carefully, in total control, her face shows no emotions, still he is able to read her well. She is strangely quiet, in a way different from the past.  
It is strange to have too much time to think, Arya misses a companion to talk with, to share intimate thoughts. She misses her master.  
The galley boy comes twice a day with food, she calls for him often, asking him little things every time, a dried apple, another slice of bread, she likes his face, his silence, his quiet composture, unusual for one so young..  
Her teasing is harmful, a day she decides to surprise him staying hidden behind the door, holding Needle. The boy makes a jump when he sees the blade, the plate he holds threatens to fall and his face has a strange spark he can’t control. Sudden a chill under her skin.  
A memory, from a past not forgotten.  
Eyes with changing intensity, hair made of flames and a pure white streak.  
Jaqen H’ghar, the man she called him so, the warm wind she sometimes feels when she spots broad shoulders and a noble profile on the streets.  
Can he be here, now? On the ship, disguised as a member – or more - of the crew, able to hide behind a mask, here to complete his mission? To kill her after she took a life and some faces from the house of Black and White? why the idea of Jaqen with a dagger at her throat is not scaring her, like the one pointed at his heart, when she left, and his smile, teasing and assuming and …  
Her cheeks are pink at the thought, but it is getting hotter, noon, the sun is high and it burns in the middle of the sea.  
She’s sure he’s on board, but she cannot discovered his role. A little disappointment for him, his apprentice should be more skilled in recognizing the master. Things have changed, maybe, time spent apart, distance and the excitement of sailing west. 

\---

He likes to play with her, he likes their interactions, he enjoys to see her understanding something strange is happening. When he’s into the mask, he’s so deeply involved he can’t full control his mood; it’s the closeness, he tells himself, after they have parted at the House, it’s the first time they are together in a confined space. Arya is clearly determined to discover the truth and he’s torn between duty and desire, afraid to let a side win.  
He has prepared for her an handsome face, one she can appreciate, not his own, a grown up man, once her master. His own master’s word are haunting him; she deserves someone young, beautiful, like the captain, she can have Edham, she can have whoever she likes.  
It’s not like the blacksmith, Arya wants fun, needs to satisfy her flesh, that Baratheon bastard wanted her for life.  
But Arya don’t fall in the trap, he hears her talking with the ship maester, telling him she is not afraid of dangers, that she had a great training, her master taught her fear cuts more than swords.  
When they speak, Edham laughs too loud for Arya’s taste, her face changes in a subtle way, a man is able to notice it. 

\--- 

It’s not the helmsman. The smell of wine, very strong, is glued to him, he’s sure a man who indulges too much in pleasure of the throat. And in something forbidden, too: she enters into one of the holds to catch one of her bags, full of herbs and precious ingredients for the potions and he is there behind a pile of sails with another sailor, all sweaty and red cheeks, both adjusting their breeches.  
“Sorry to have interrupted”, she says graciously and does a step back, hiding a smile.  
They whisper a few words passing beside her and they jolt up the wooden stair. She is amused, the helmsman seemed so male, were he in such a desperate need to put his cock into a tight hole or the charged look the two lovers shared for a brief moment hints at something deeper and more meaningful?  
Arya is glad they can find solace in each other and that her quest for her old master there is a reduction of potential candidates. 

\---

Climbing the wooden stairs up to the deck, at dawn, Arya hopes only the night watch is awake; she can’t rest, turning in her narrow bed for hours, dreams she can’t remember plaguing her fractured sleep and she needs action; a horse ride is impossible, a good sword fight too, she is forced to admit her idea to travel by sea was impulsive.  
But here she is and by her own choice.  
A sound from the corridor leading to stern captures her attention, she stops, curious.  
Only half of the space there is used to put away groceries and goods, the ship has left the harbour too hurriedly, her own impatience the reason not to fill the hold to the brim. Was she escaping something or someone? Was her decision made of fear or curiosity, or the memories in Winterfell were too painful without half of her family?  
She opens the door carefully and in the dim light a man is practicing with a sword against a big sack of oat covered by a robe with circles in the correspondence of vital organs.  
Bare chest, tanned skin, brown hair that with the reflection of the first sun filtering through the portholes gives way to a reddish effect.  
The man is unaware she is observing with attention, concentrated as he is in the effort of killing the enemy, and she can’t see if he is simply an ex soldier transformed in a sailor or someone else she should fear and desire in equal part.  
For how long she stares is not important, until her name is called from the hatch.  
The captain needs her and the spell is broken, the man swiftly opens another door and she is forced to answer the call. 

\---

After another week of navigation, an annoyed Arya waits for her dinner laying on the bed, propped on an elbow, studying a map; a position chosen by purpose because she’s curious, the boy is so different from the other sailors, she remembers Hot Pie’s innocence, their old friendship. The interactions with the boy is something that makes Arya smile often.  
She don’t miss Gendry, after he has become a lord, after he made that silly marriage proposal only because she has kissed him with the idea of something more, had they not be interrupted by the soldier shouting the gate was in need of intervention.  
That kiss was not pleasant as she imagined, she wanted fire and desire in her last night before the final battle, she imagined to forget herself , to feel a new warmth all over her body like in the hot baths of the House, thinking about another man, a lifetime ago.  
The boy enters, the cabin is dark, a single candle glows on the table; Arya’s bed is partially hidden by a curtain, when she makes a sound he retreats, the tray trembles, drops from the cup of wine.  
“Did I scare you? It wasn’t my intention.”  
He’s forced to stand up straight and she can see his eyes are frightened.  
Strange. If he were Jaqen, there’d be acknowledgement.  
“No, milady.”  
“I’m not a lady.”  
He blushes, redness spreading on his face, like his words had been silly and the worst choice for the occasion.  
“Yes, milady.”  
All is too confused: is she wrong or her mind is playing tricks? It’s not him, it’s impossible and her frustration can only increase while the boy puts the tray on the table and leave.


	3. Chapter 3

Edham discusses with Arya the route, they cannot go forward forever, he listens to the complains from the crew.  
“The crew is anxious to find something. The wait is getting too long.”  
“At due time.”  
“They’re impatient!”  
“I’ll add more gold, now leave me alone.”  
“You don’t know what you’re looking for.”  
“I hired you to sail, you’re paid well enough to listen to my orders!”  
The captain bows his head a little, furious and resigned at the same time and when she is alone again Arya massages her temples, she is sure there is a large island very close, the ancient tales of the voyagers are true, she swears on her parents’ memory, just a little push and everyone will be rewarded soon.  
The winds are stronger, from South, the ship sails faster and for a few days there is peace again, the idea of moving gives the crew a new hope and Edham is now silent, he smells something different in the air, clouds from west have a different color, clouds of thunder and storms and a green leaf fall on the deck.

In the galley the cook is cutting slices of dried pork meat, Arya feels her stomach clench at the smell.  
“I’m suffering the roll, I thought I was going well until this afternoon.”  
The man gives her a disapproving look, women on board, fragile, delicate, she’s a warrior but she’s still small and young, like his own daughter once was.  
“Go inside your cabin and stay sit, not prone. I’ll prepare something that helps.”  
After a quarter of a candle there is a knock at the door  
“Come in.”  
The usual boy enters with a tray, two tiny cups, one full of amber honey, the other with a steaming liquid whose scent reaches her nose.  
A well known scent, hidden under others, but unmistakable.  
Ginger.  
A common remedy for sea travelers, the old sailors said, written in the list of items to have on board.  
She drinks it avidly, it’s hot and strong but she likes it. Maybe too strong for a single cup, her nostrils opens up, smelling spices, her head turns until she gets the main source, the boy’s skin. It was what captured her attention since the beginning, but she failed to make the connection.  
He’s collecting a fallen spoon from the floor, unaware she is putting herself between him and the door; when he stands up, Arya’s smile is of power, she’s sure it is him; his eyes widen, he looks around for an escape route.  
“What are you doing?” She asks softly.  
“Milady, I must go.”  
“You’ll stay here! Milady needs to talk with you.”  
He retreats to the wooden partition wall, trying to make her follow so that he can sprint to the door, bypassing her, but Arya locks it and put the key in her breeches’ pocket, close to her core.  
The boy swallows. She’s up to something, she’s resolute, determinate, the man under the face recognizes the signs well.  
“I think you are young and beautiful. The most beautiful on this ship. Have you ever been close to a girl already?”  
He gulps at her boldness, her courage is a certainty; his true self, the one who answers to the name of Jaquen H’ghar hurts for her appreciation of another man; don’t she see how painful is for him the decision to stay away? His promise, to protect and to serve, his wow to the many faced God to do his best to stay hidden.  
It costs Jaqen all his control, his willpower, to remain in the body he is using and not showing a girl how far he’d go for her.  
The turmoil inside appears on his face, she bits her lower lips, torment the skin, draws blood, she likes the confusion in him, the game of control they are playing.  
“There’s another beautiful man with long hair on board. I saw him training with a sword, but I can’t find him between the crew. Is he another passenger? Where does he hide?”  
She taunts him, playing with the strings of her camisole, twisting it around her fingers, then wetting her lips, briefly.  
His cover is slowly falling piece by piece, the realization she has spotted him, that she doesn’t covet the boy but him, this human being that is Jaqen – with a name and a story too linked with hers – allows his lungs to breathe freely.  
Arya’s eyes shine, the power over him is intoxicating, for how long he’ll resist her?  
Her gaze runs up and down his frame, his shoulders are shaking, drops of sweat, a new tightness of his clothes under the waistline.  
A step closer, two, hands on her hips, his forehead furrows, eyelids half closed not to see her, half open curious for her bold moves.  
When her hand leaves her side and shoots up to reach the collar of his worn out jacket – a part of an old uniform he picked up from a pile of clothes the first day on the ship - Jaqen trembles, anticipating the contact.  
Layers of tissues protect him, nevertheless it burns like the fire of dragons and the purest ice,  
“Jaqen?”  
She tilts her head, waiting for an answer, impossible for him to give; the want, the need, not compatible with her safety, her protection he swore to assure.  
“I know it is you. Why are you here? To kill me?” She is sure if that was his plan, he’d already acted, shortly before the ship left the Harbor, Killing her now would mean a suicide mission.  
A sliver flash, she holds Needle.  
He shakes his head, unable to move, while she touches him everywhere to confirm he’s free of weapons, his skin rejoices in her touch, he feels he’s sweating with a new fever.  
“Never.” He whispers, he burns for her, skin fever follows her fingers’ trail, her words are honey for him.  
“I need you since I realized what need is.”  
A Stark don’t plead, her parents always told her. But a Stark is tired of waiting.  
Her hand travels up to his cheeks, skin soft under her touch - he shaved or pretends to be still beardless - the line where faces are worn is thin, quite invisible, Arya knows where to find it.  
The boy’s hand stop hers, a grasp too sudden and strong and Arya eyes’ are full with the whole moon.  
“Please, Jaqen.” Arya barely whispers. “It must be with you. I don’t want to be raped like my sister, kidnapped like my aunt of breed like my mother. I want you. Not with a false face, but the man I saw in the cage …”  
He puts a finger on her lips, tenderly, to still her voice, to play in his mind her words, faceless can he be, for her he is defined in that appearance, a man with full lips, deep eyes and a streak of white in his red hair.  
“Lovely girl.”  
His voice changes, deeper, a grown up man and his grip is now soft and tender so Arya can free Jaqen from the face.  
“Arya Stark, a man will never impose himself on you.”  
He’s smiling, a sad smile on his lips, a happy light in his eyes; he‘ll settle the promises with his God, later, now he only wants to offer Arya his complete attention, his body, his life.  
“I’m learning what wanting means since you left me, lovely girl.”


	4. Chapter 4

They wake up hours later, Arya’s head resting on Jaqen’s naked chest, both heartbeats in unison.   
Dawn filters through the porthole, winds are inflating the sails; the door is locked from the inside, to keep them in and the others out.  
Jaqen has an arm around Arya’s thin waist, for now he’s at peace after a long time, impossible to remember when it happened. Was during his lost childhood or when he found refuge at the house or when he become a master?   
The faceless inside him is giving way to a new kind of man, with a place for desires and feelings thanks to the girl the God put on his path.   
Not a common one: Arya forged their bond, dictated their interactions, searched for him and then left him to pursue her own destiny; he was the one always a step behind, but he couldn’t refuse her anything, ever. He offered her three lives, he offered her himself, too, all of him.  
Now they are two masters of the gift - he for his God, she for her family - taking a pause from the harsh reality of life through the physical union of their bodies.  
While the darkness was enveloping their cabin, Jaqen spent a long time pleasuring Arya, using all his knowledge, his fingers and his mouth, to prepare her, but nothing has prepared him for the moment she moved suddenly to turn him on his back and in a swift motion to block his arms with her hands. Arya let herself descend, capturing all of him inside her. Jaqen stilled, holding his breath in concentration and wonder.   
The two halves that were missed, the pleasure shared, the connection both of their bodies and their minds, it’s perfect Arya has decided when and how.  
Clumsy at first, without experience, only theory and couplings witnessed in the brothels, but it is enough, they are one and each has a turn at pleasure.  
Blood not from her maidenhead - too many days of training, fighting, riding to have that membrane intact - but from their frantic first time gestures; Arya’s nails on his arms when he has rolled again her under him, pressing the right spot to make her satisfied and weak and Jaqen’s teeth into her shoulder, just before he has spilled all his life inside her.   
Then silence, for a while, Arya’s eyes close with a smile on her lips and Jaqen lulls her to sleep.   
Awakening together in the early morning, for the first time naked under the linens, Arya turns and her stomach grumbles; she hears him chuckling.   
She runs to the pot in the corner and uses the curtain to hide her body; their new intimacy is the most difficult part, the change in their relationship has been sudden, she thinks to hide for a moment but then she turns and faces him when he calls her name.  
“I’ll go get your food from the galley. And moon tea.”   
She smiles at the idea of eating, then her brow furrows and a hand covers the scars on her belly.  
“Do you think I could…you know…. after the Waif stabbed me here?”   
He has kissed and touched all the lines on her body, ashamed of what he let his sister do on Arya’s skin, his fault because he simply refused to forecast her mission in time, to recognize he was driven by a force he has learned is called desire.   
Jaqen don’t know the entity of the internal damage done; he understands there are possibilities he has never evaluated before, choices of a different life, of a future that is too far from the present.   
“A man is no Maester, versed in medicine, but a girl has started a long voyage and she cannot be burdened now with a babe. Better to avoid risks.”   
She nods, it’s a new page in her book – their book now - and she’ll have all the time to ponder about the implications of their lovemaking.  
It’s more than satisfaction of the flesh, there’s a connection now that started developing since they first met.   
He stands up and dresses himself, wearing again the face of the boy. Arya stares at his body without shame.  
“Why you aren’t here openly as my master, my sword shield?”  
Jaqen smiles.  
Arya in need of protection? A silly idea. Her feral grace is all she needs, but maybe deep down there is e little space that he can fill with care, for the first time in his life he has a strong reason to live for.   
“A man ..I need to be disguised as much as I can. I’ve got few faces here and the young ones last longer. My master predicted this voyage could be long.”   
Satisfied of his answer, she cleans herself with a wet cloth while he is away; how sticky and smelling sex is, some private parts are itching, some are red.   
She has a small mirror, her reflection is unchanged. She is the same. She is Jaqen’s lover now.   
They share their meals in her cabin, too sudden a cramped place for two people.   
Jaquen eyes the narrow bed, the small table, two chests full of her clothes, the wooden floor: it is silly for Arya to ask for a more comfortable accommodation; his north wolf likes simplicity.   
Not a king’s ship, it’s a commercial one, that had travelled for a long time over the waves, to go unnoticed: no flags but the wolf, no weapons, no menaces.   
Jaqen is used to frugality, too, not to closeness and intimacy with another human being.   
A men knows what care means. And now he knows the bitter taste of loneliness all his life.  
There’s no refuge to hide, they are both exposed, stripped bare to the basic of each other. The people outside can be close of far away, it doeesn’t matter, for a few hours every night the world is reduced to a man and a girl.   
They have to talk, seriously, about Arya’s voyage to the unknown.  
“What’s your original plan?”  
“To go West of Westeros.”  
“As soon as we left the harbor, it was West.”   
“But West is more distant!” His lovely girl is stubborn and Jaqen finds a smile on his lips, oh the human desire to go and follow the sun, the attraction toward the source of life and light.   
He drinks a sip of water, precious nectar collected from the sails every early morning, he gives her time to ponder the true nature of his question.   
His silence is disturbing, Arya is struggling to find an answer. It seemed so easy at first, she liked the idea to travel without second thoughts, before her mind was distracted by him, the emptiness of the sea mixed with the feeling he was close and she was proven right.  
“West is West.” She hopes he’s satisfied with her answer. In vain. The length of her enterprise is a topic worth of discussion - willingly or not - she don’t want to forget the reasons that have prompted her to rent the ship, the conscious choice to leave and explore.  
“Did you imagine how long this travel will be?”   
“The ship has supplies for six moons.”  
She hates when he makes her think, a girl born of instinct and impulse, her worst problem at the house was control. He’s a master, indeed, the epitome of dominance over the pulsations of the body he developed during the years.


	5. Chapter 5

The ice intensifies, more blocks float around the ship, the bow makes a strange sound cracking the ice; Arya thinks she is back in Winterfell with all the white solid water around her, a sense of impending danger push her to change route, go South, somewhere else, the ice is not good for a ship. Ancient tales of wreckages during very cold winters come to memory, she don’t want this risk.   
The captain is angry because of her sudden change of mind, he wants to get back, he mutters words in anger and disdain when Arya leaves his quarters.   
“Stupid woman, never a clear decisions.”  
The galley boy listens and rules his face, his hands grip the rail and he forces himself to stay quiet, it’s getting harder to remain faceless and emotionless; he’s made a wow to hide in the shadows as much as he can, if Arya is not in danger.  
If he throws off his mask, lots of things will change, his life will be forced to take a different path, like his Master told him once.   
To reveal himself to Arya is one thing, especially after the passion they have shared, to the rest of the crew, it is something he delays as much as he can.   
“Starboard, there’s a monster in the water.”  
A shout from the lookout, all gathers on that side, where strange forms appear, a powerful whiff and silhouettes dance in the water.  
Dark shapes are visible just under the surface.   
Another whiff, a sharp fin cuts the waters, dark and feral; the back of the monster is black and white, enormous, surrounded by three others, smaller, one probably a young.   
The helmsman turns a few degrees away from the monsters, they follow, attracted by the vessel, the sounds and the movement.   
Edham shouts the crew to add more sails, but the wind pushes the ship toward the ice; two dangers, the sailors start to shout out loud, in protest. They are afraid, they don’t want to die.  
“We must sail South!”   
Arya insists, but she is minority, Edham goes beside the helm and he’s above the others, he shouts to follow his orders.  
Arya stands below and challenges Edham, hands on needle, knuckles white with rage. Jaqen notices and moves in silence form the hatch, his harts beats a little too fast for his likings, his eyes are focused on Arya so that he misses the protruding nail cutting his arm.   
Arya insists. “We can’t get stuck in the ice. We’ll never free the ship, it is too dangerous.”  
A child of the north, born in winter, knows well the frailty and at the same time hardness of the cold material.  
The captain don’t accept Arya’s decision and orders two men to lead the Stark woman in her cabin and lock the door.  
Arya grabs needle and stands still, the blade shines in the crystal light, the men look back and forth between Arya and the captain, a battle of wills with a winner only.   
The sailors don’t notice when the galley boy retreats behind a pile of rugs under the main mast maestro, picks up a thin sword and changes his face.   
A man with red and white hair makes room to stand beside Arya  
“A girl has more sense than courage this time, she is right to escape from ice.”  
“Who are you? “  
The captain’s face shows incredulity, how could he miss a clandestine on board? Is it his ship or not?   
The posture of the man disturbs Edham: calm, in control, a strong arm hold the sword, a face avoid of emotions.  
“A man is Jaqen H’ghar and he’s at Arya Stark’s service. My lady of Stark is the commander of this expedition and who denies her will meet my sword.”  
Edham makes a step forward, the confrontation seems odd, all the crew against a man and a young woman, the math is easy, the captains grins and Jaqen wants him to respect Arya, she don’t deserve to be made fun of.   
Edham draws a sword, standing in front of Jaqen, who don’t want to fight, this death is not requested, and he don’t want to humiliate the captain, they need him for the voyage.   
A flash of steel, a swift movement and Arya strikes, Edham’s sword falls on the deck without resistance, Needle has touched metal only, the captain’s hand and wrist are intact.   
Arya moves beside Jaqen and the circle around them loosens, the captains waves a hand to dismiss the crew that return to the usual tasks.   
The monsters are simply strange creatures of the sea, Jaqen explains everyone, the creatures follows the ship, from one side to the other, swimming under the water.   
“How do you know all these things?” Arya asks Jaqen once the sailing is quiet again.   
“Old books had drawings. A man saw them in his travels and his master made him read a lot during training.”   
The old room inside the House, full of precious books, few masters had the key, he was one of them. Arya’s unaware of its existence, Jaqen decides to tell her how many other rooms are scattered in the seven kingdoms. The power of knowledge on her would add strength to her weapons.  
“I will show you those books.”  
He is right, her faces is curious, it’s an offer she’ll never refuse, all the more because it is from him.   
“I want to learn.”  
Jaqen nods, he knows encyclopedic knowledge is foolish, nevertheless he can offer Arya enough notions to entertain her for a long time. She has other issues to discuss with him,  
“You revealed your face?”  
“A girl was in need. A man must protect.”  
“I was doing well myself.”   
“But I feared danger.”   
“You? Not a man? It means you’re going to remain Jaqen from now on?”   
“No more reasons to hide this face here.”   
She is satisfied at the prospect to be seen with him. What happened, the war, the deaths, the losses becomes a little more bearable since Jaqen has returned.   
He has forgotten the notion of time at the House, days, weeks, months were all the same, a repetition interrupted only by his missions.  
Now every moment spent with Arya has a deep meaning, they need to make plans, when to decide West is reached, when to stop the journey, how to conclude the interlude on the ship, how to find a new life for them. The call of the House gets more and more far every passing day, the call of Winterfell will pulse again in her blood soon, Jaqen is sure, because a Stark belongs to the North. The lookout shouts again, he’s excited this time, there’s a patch of land on the horizon.   
Arya feels elated, she was right, West of Westeros is a certainty, her wish is fulfilled and she’s ready to land with Jaqen at her side.   
The journey they started in Harrenhal many years ago will continue, maybe she’ll return home, maybe they’ll travel more.   
Together, this time.


End file.
